


There's Another Dawning

by foundfamilyvevo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Anxiety, Coming of Age, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5586676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundfamilyvevo/pseuds/foundfamilyvevo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Liam's never met anyone with Harry's traits. He's met nice people. He's met people who were goofy, who had long hair. He supposes he met Zayn and Louis earlier that day, so he's met other people with tattoos. It's not those things, it's just that Harry is more than everyone else, he's different in a way Liam can't put into words. Liam feels more like himself around Harry. He didn't realise he wasn't feeling like himself before.</p><p>Or, a new bakery opens in Liam's town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Another Dawning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swallowsmateforlife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swallowsmateforlife/gifts).



> SO... THIS IS ONLY ABOUT HALF A YEAR LATE. i have a lot of excuses but i'm not going to bother. instead, just: sorry. i hope you like it!  
> it takes a village to raise a child... it took like two cities worth of people to raise this fic. to all of you who listened to me complain, helped me when i was stuck, and told me i didn't suck when i most needed to hear it: you know who you are, and THANK YOU. biggest thanks as always to b tumblr user littlepetlouis, superstar friendwife who was horrendously ill and still betaed this whole thing for me in a few short days.
> 
> disclaimer: this is based upon stage and media representations of people provided to me and doesn't say anything about the actual people in question, who i have no rights to. in saying this, please don't send this work of utter fiction to anyone it involves! thank you :")  
> title from higher love by prides. i recommend the bbc radio scotland live version.

Liam's almost out the door, already ten minutes late for work, when his mum calls, "Liam, buy bread on the way home, would you!" and in the mess of trying to tie a shoelace while he walks, bus pass held in his teeth, and stumbling into the mailbox, he immediately forgets about it.

The shop doesn't get too much business that day, just enough that Liam can't quite zone out at the till. He's ringing up two tins of tuna and a can of roll-on deodorant when he hears, "-new bakery over the hill, opened yesterday."

 _Bread._ He has to get bread. He can't forget. The new bakery has been there for a few weeks, but it's been under construction; he didn't realise it was opening so soon. At least it'll add some variety to his walk home. Maybe he won't have to pass the Jacksons' house and hear them all fighting again.

 

It's a little shop, nothing fancy or out-of-place or yelling _city_ , and it sits on the corner street between the mechanic's and the diner. The sign above it is a big loaf of bread with a sprinkling of hundreds and thousands over the top of it and the word "Bakery".

A bell above the door jingles as he pushes it open. The inside of the shop is all red and white, pinstripes and stools by benches at the door. Liam wonders if part of it used to be a bit of the diner; it looks similar, just repainted, remodelled a little. Like an old car that's been done up. A few people are mulling and browsing, so Liam can walk right up to the counter without queueing.

There's a laugh from the room behind the counter, and a boy stumbles through the door, followed by a cloud of flour. He looks up and gives Liam a big smile, all dimples and curly hair and one big, long-fingered hand resting along the doorframe like it's something stable but loved, something he treats gently despite knowing it can handle more. "Hello, sir," he says, and coughs flour into his elbow. "How may I help you?"

"Just – just a loaf of bread," Liam says. His jaw feels tight. It always bloody does that when he has to talk to someone new. The only good thing about a small town is that that doesn't happen often. "Please," he adds, too late, feeling his stomach roll.

"Not a problem," says the boy, bending down to pull a fresh one out from the tray, "that'll be £1.35." He smiles again as he does it, and the way he looks at Liam's face makes Liam feel – well. Liam hands over the money and takes the bread. "Thank you," he says.

"I'm new to the area," says the boy. "I hope I'll see you around."

"Yeah," says Liam. He doesn't know how to respond to that, so he takes his opportunity and heads out the door.

 

The new bakery is the talk of the town for an entire week, during which time Liam does his best not to think about it more than makes sense. He can't help but learn that the boy who he encountered there has moved out from London, and that everyone in the entire place (not that that says much) adores him. It dies down after Mrs Robinson starts telling people she's having triplets, and Liam finds himself focusing on other things.

 

Until he has a flat-out awful day.

It's not awful for any specific reason, he supposes. He sleeps badly, and then oversleeps, and then trips getting off the bus and scrapes his hands on the rough pavement at the stop, and then his manager yells at him but he can't figure out why, which makes him too nervous to eat lunch. By the end of his shift, he's upset and _starving_. And then he misses his bus.

The walk home isn't that long – can't be in such a small place, but he's not in the mood. He stands at the stop for a few minutes breathing and rallying his spirits, and decides he's going to go and get something to eat first.

That's when he remembers the bakery.

Normally, Liam would avoid that type of food, but he's had a terrible day so he figures there's nothing wrong with stopping and getting a little something, maybe a finger bun or a donut. His sister says he's a donut, sometimes, and he's got no idea what that means, unless she's saying he's round and empty on the inside, which is fair enough.

He walks back past the corner shop, where he might dodge away from the windows to avoid any more interaction with his manager, and then down the hill into the lane of other shops. Passing the haberdashery, which somehow manages to stay open no matter what closes down around it, and the diner, he slows to a stop outside the bakery. There's no one inside, from what he can see, but the sign hanging on the door is turned to a cheery-fonted _Open!_ so he carefully pushes inside.

As the bell rings, the boy from the first time Liam visited pops up from behind the counter. He makes Liam think of an animal, but Liam can't put his finger on what one.

"Hi!" says the boy, same grin spreading on his face. "It's you." The way he says it makes it sound like they're old friends, and like it's a good thing. Luckily before Liam has to reply, the boy adds, "What're you after today?"

Liam takes a moment to look at the display in the windowed counter, and the boy seems fine with that response, brushes some excess flour off his apron and fetches a broom from the corner to clean up whatever has landed on the floor. There's a lot of flavours and Liam is struggling with indecision – because apparently he always is, apparently he doesn't even know what he wants when it comes to something as simple as donuts. His first try, his voice disappears on him. He clears his throat and has another go, and even if it's a little stilted, he manages, "Do you have a recommendation?"

The boy looks up, blinks like he's not sure Liam was addressing him. "Oh! Probably. What on?"

Liam gestures to the donut shelf. "Can't decide."

"It's a tough one," the boy agrees, leaning thoughtfully over the counter so he's looking at them upside-down. He could easily just look at them from the back of the display, but Liam doesn't say anything about that. "Chocolate is good, and comforting, yeah? But strawberry is uplifting, which is like, different. Subtly."

Not quite sure what to do with that, Liam doesn't reply, simply keeps looking. The boy doesn't move back from his position leaning over the counter.

"But like, caramel and sprinkles could solve anything, y'know? You could face pretty much anything if you had a caramel and sprinkles donut. Empowering stuff." He looks up now, and his face is unexpectedly close to Liam's own. "So I guess it depends what you're looking for."

"Guess so," says Liam. His voice is kind of little.

The boy precariously balances on one arm and leans his other one out, offering his hand. "'M Harry," he says, smiling. "Bakery CEO as of about two months ago."

"Liam," answers Liam instinctively, shaking hands. Harry has long fingers and broad palms and interesting, pretty knuckles – Liam quickly pulls back. Shuts down that train of thought. It's never gotten him anywhere good. "You own this place?"

"Yep! All, what, two square feet of it?" Harry laughs a bit. "Always wanted to have my own business, couldn't afford anywhere in London, though. Property out here is cheap and there's not as much competition, so I figured, might as well give it a shot. Worst comes to worst, I can just move back to live with my parents and try something else."

Harry takes about two minutes to finish what he's saying, but Liam doesn't think that's what's stopping him from understanding it.

"So," Harry says again, pulling the word right out like it's eight letters instead of two. "What do you think you need, Liam?" The way he says Liam rolls off his tongue, slow like everything else but sweet, optimistic. Liam's so used to it being resigned, he's almost taken aback.

"Oh." He turns back to the donut shelf. Chocolate, strawberry, caramel sprinkled. Comforting, uplifting, empowering. "Um." He still doesn't really know, and it's making him feel even sadder than he did before. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Harry's brow creases, and he says, "Okay, y'know what, I think you're doing this wrong. You're not busy, are you?"

"Oh – not particularly, but you don't have to – " Liam begins, but Harry has already crossed the room to stick his silly baker's hat on top of his hair. Then, he moves to the little gate in the counter and opens it, looking at Liam expectantly.

"I – am I allowed to do that?" He feels very much like he's about to get in trouble.

"Yeah, Liam," says Harry, sounding gently amused, "otherwise I wouldn't be inviting you back. I own the place, remember? I _make_ the rules."

Liam laughs a bit then, because Harry sounds more like he's five than a twenty-something adult who owns a business, and he steps through. Already, it feels weird, seeing the bakery from this side of the counter, but Harry isn't done. "Wait right here," he orders. Liam doesn't dare move as Harry vanishes through the door into the back. There's some scuffling, and he reappears with an apron and another one of the hats in his arms.

Laughing, Liam holds his hands up. "Okay, hang on. Hold on."

"You can't go into the bakery dressed like that!" insists Harry. "C'mon, Liam, participate. Be a participator. I'm told that's a very good thing."

Remembering what his mum always says about participating, how his lack-of is holding him back, Liam's throat gets a bit tight, and he doesn't argue any more. Instead, he just nods, takes the apron from Harry when he hands it to him, and ties it around his waist. Harry places the hat gently on top of Liam's head and admires his handiwork for a moment. Liam does his absolute best not to blush, but he's not sure it works.

"You look perfect," Harry decides, and Liam's breath hitches, and – "Here, through here." Harry turns, pushes the big door open, and goes inside. Liam pauses a moment.

"Liam?" Harry calls.

"Yeah," Liam replies. He goes to the door and pushes it open.

The back of the bakery looks both exactly like what Liam would have thought, and nothing at all like that. There are wide counters around the walls and shelves full of jars and flour bags and packaging along the back, and the surfaces are covered in a light white dust which Liam can only assume is more flour. There are boards, rolling pins, and tins stacked in an open cupboard to his left, and the right wall is taken up mostly by large bread ovens. He can still tell it's a remodelled part of the diner, but it looks right, like this is how all bakeries should look.

Harry has moved already to what must be the stove and oven, switching things on and pulling things out and eventually, mixing them all together. "This is how you make _real_ donuts," he explains, "I'm letting you in on the secret."

"Right," says Liam, like he understands anything that's going on at all. "What – um. What should I do?"

"You're here as the best moral support ever," Harry explains. "Also, hold this."

Liam does hold this. It looks like 'this' is some sort of strange jug-funnel. Harry ends up using it a few minutes later to put the batter he's made into what looks like a donut tray, which he then sticks in the oven. There's an old-fashioned egg timer sitting on the shelf above Harry's head. He reaches up and grabs it, sticks it on and says, "There."

"There," Liam repeats back, and Harry could have won the lottery, from the look on his face.

While things are baking, Harry fishes some of the flavoured milks out of the fridge, plonking the chocolate one down in front of Liam. "Figured it'd be best not to let you choose, since that's what got us here," he says, and it should feel mean or at least teasing, but a laugh bubbles out of Liam before he has any say in it.

"Thanks."

Harry perches up on the stool next to Liam's at the counter, takes a moment to unstick the straw from the side of the carton. "So," he says, turning to face Liam, one long leg dangling loose and the other resting up on the metal foot rest, "you alright?"

"All good, yeah," answers Liam instinctively, turning his gaze to his own milk. He hasn't had chocolate milk in years, not since he was little. The straw feels a bit like a joke, but Harry's not treating it like one, sucking on his own thoughtfully.

"Well, I'm glad you came in today, at least," Harry tells him.

And, well. It's a surprise. Liam doesn't know what to say.

"Oh," he says at last, looking up to try to read Harry's face.

All Harry does is grin, eyes bright and laser-focused on Liam. "I'm so new around here, it's nice to have a familiar face. I mean, we're familiar now, right?"

"Sure," says Liam, "you'd know me if you hit me with your car, I s'pose."

Harry laughs, tips his head back and nearly spits chocolate milk everywhere. Liam tries to say that it wasn't funny, at all, but he finds himself laughing too, at the sight of Harry's scrunched up nose and his ridiculous long limbs all doing their different strange things like they're not aware of each other.

It's a good feeling.

Liam's nearly finished his milk when the timer rings from the other room; Harry slurps the last bit from the bottom of his carton and throws it in the bin, standing up and stretching. "Now we get to do the decorating bit!"

Hesitating, Liam thinks about whether he should be getting home – it'll be dark out in not long, but the way Harry's face falls when he realises changes Liam's mind. "Sure, okay. Lead the way."

Liam – as Harry is laying out colours and mixing up an icing, and showing Liam his range of different shaped decorative sprinkles – thinks that the decisions here will be even more stressful than if he'd just picked a basic donut in the first place. As he does it, though, he finds it easier than he thought, because it's less a decision between certain things, and more just grabbing one of each thing.

He ends up with a lemon-iced donut covered in star-shaped lollies. It doesn't look anything like the one Harry made, or like the ones out the front in the counter, but Harry approves firmly, and Liam supposes it'll taste good.

"How much do I owe you for this?" Liam asks, as Harry slides it into a little brown paper bag.

"What?" Harry looks up. "Nothing, you made it! It's on the house. I barely even did anything."

Liam knows he ought to argue, insist that no, he'll pay, but Harry holds it out to him and arches both eyebrows like a challenge. So Liam takes his donut.

"I'd best be getting home," he says instead, checking his watch. It doesn't always work right, but today it's decided to match to the clock on the bakery wall, "I'll let you close up."

"No hurry for me," Harry shrugs, "but if you need to go."

Liam bites his lip, checks the time again. "Yeah, I think I do." Shifting his weight, he squeezes his free hand into a fist. Feeling the sticky sugar on his fingertips, he opens it again. "Thanks for this."

He hopes it sounds casual, but Harry's response sounds a bit warm for casual, not that Liam can read anyone's tone at the best of times. "Not a problem, Liam. You're welcome here, yeah?"

"Okay," says Liam. There's a moment of silence before Harry clears his throat and straightens up, and Liam takes that as his signal to head to the door. Harry waves him out as he wanders back behind the counter, and Liam smiles, waves back before he thinks about how it looks. He eats the donut on the way home.

 

Liam finds himself still on icy terms with his boss the next day, so he stays well out of his way and goes outside for his lunch break. He doesn't have much to eat today, and it's overcast and chilly and not as spring as Liam would like. He pulls his coat tighter around himself, not that it makes a load of difference, old as it is, and turns his face away from the wind.

That's when he sees Harry walking up the road. He trudges, the way he walks, but he manages to make it look lively. Like there's a spring in his booted steps.

"Liam!" Harry calls, happily. "Nice to see you."

"You too," Liam replies and wonders if that's it.

But Harry slows to a stop at the top of the hill and looks to the free space of bench. "May I?"

Liam pauses and nods. Harry sits down. His hands are in his pockets, and his elbow is close enough to Liam's that it feels sort of like they're touching, even though they're not. Liam wishes he could be less aware of it, of how close it is.

"Are you on break?" Harry asks.

"Yeah," says Liam.

"Mmkay. When do you get off work this afternoon?"

Liam checks his watch, instinctively. He's almost sure the battery is dying. "Uh. Two, I think. Finish early today."

Harry shifts a little closer to Liam as a particularly cold breeze runs past and turns to look at him. "You wanna hang out then?" He smiles a bit. "Could show me around the town, a little. A native's perspective."

It feels like Liam doesn't have much of a choice, but that's not a bad feeling, not as bad as it could be. Harry seems to genuinely want to do it, for some reason. He must not have gotten the memo about how Liam's no fun to be with, or maybe everyone seems equally boring here compared to in the city.

"'Kay," agrees Liam.

Harry beams. "Great. Alright, I'll let you have your lunch break. See you then, though." He stands, and then fumbles in his pockets. "Oh. I forgot. I brought you this." He pulls out a little carton of chocolate milk, somewhat dwarfed by his big hand, and offers it up. "Hopefully s' not frozen from the walk over."

Liam laughs even though he's not certain it's a joke. Mostly, he's touched. It's a sweet thing to do. "Thank you," he says, reaching to take it.

"Welcome," says Harry as he backs away and turns to walk down the hill again. It occurs to Liam that Harry might have only come up it to see him in the first place.

 

Twenty minutes in and Liam's wondering if there's anything left in the town to show Harry. They've walked from one end of main street to the other, and Liam's fairly sure he's talked three times as much as he should have, and now they're at the park. Harry's sitting on a swing far too small for him, and Liam standing not far off. He's tired from work, and though he's – he's pretty sure he's enjoying Harry's company, he can't help but think Harry must be getting bored.

"Probably convinced you to move back to London," Liam says with an awkward laugh.

Harry laughs far less awkwardly, and Liam is envious. "Takes more than that to get rid of me," he says, hooking his arms around the swing chains and pushing off the ground with one booted toe. "I'll have you know I'm having a marvellous time." His eyes widen and his mouth tugs up into a half-smile, "I know. Show me a secret place."

Liam blinks. "A secret place." Liam doesn't much like secrets, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have any.

"Yeah! Surely there is one," says Harry. "The kind of place you find as a kid and don't tell anyone about."

Reluctantly, Liam is about to tell him that no, Liam doesn't have a place like that, when he has a vague recollection. Tall grass and tripping on a log, and –

"I think there is one," he says, unable to keep his own excitement out of his tone even though he knows how silly it sounds.

"I knew there would be." Harry gets up, eyes bright, and pushes some of his long hair out of his face and behind his ear. "Show me."

"I'm not sure I remember where -"

"Even better," says Harry, and he sounds – well, it's almost impossible to tell how he sounds, but he seems excited somehow.

They find themselves on the outskirts of town, climbing under a fence. Harry's entire body seems to have been built to avoid climbing safely under (or over, Liam suspects) anything, but he makes it eventually. He reaches pathetically up to Liam from where he lies on his belly in the grass. Liam rolls his eyes and takes Harry's wrist and, when Harry grabs back, pulls him up as much as he can.

"Thank you," says Harry, huffing and brushing the wet grass off his shirt and coat. "Where are we? Are we far?"

"No. S' right over there."

The grass isn't as tall as Liam remembers – he's not sure how much of that has to do with this field being in use now. He can't have gotten that much taller since he was a teenager.

It's there, still, under a tree and even more decrepit than Liam remembers. Grass has all but consumed the tyres, and the passenger seat window has been smashed in, only jagged edges of glass left around the frame.

"This is what you remembered?" asks Harry, hushed.

"Found it in my last year of high school," Liam explains.

Harry tilts his head and takes a few gangly, cautious steps closer to the car, like it's a wild animal. "Why were you out here, anyway?"

The truth is, Liam was crying. His exams were absolutely doing him in no matter how hard he tried at it, and there was no one around. The other kids from school definitely wanted as little to do with Liam as possible. He was tired. His mum had suggested going out, something to clear his head.

To Harry, he says, "Stumbled on it, was on a walk."

The way Harry looks at him suggests that he's unsure it's the full story, but he doesn't push. Instead, he muses, "Do you think the windscreen would cave if I lay on it?"

Liam can't really tell if it's sagging already or cracked through the middle, but this car is old, and he's not sure how heavy Harry is. "I wouldn't risk it," he decides, only to watch Harry start to climb up. "Oh, my god."

"I won't blame you if I die!" Harry promises, barely balancing on the hood. "How long d'you reckon this has been here?"

"Years," answers Liam, shifting closer. Maybe if Harry falls and lands on him they'll puncture Liam's already-failed kidney and they'll both be fine.

"'S a wonder no one's gotten rid of it by now," comments Harry. "Doesn't this land belong to somebody?"

"I'm not sure," Liam is saying as the metal beneath Harry's feet gives way. He launches himself forward onto the steadier part of the car, but his momentum carries him forward, balance gone, until he hits Liam's outstretched arms.

Harry swears, loud and clear. "Leg nearly got stuck! That was way too close."

"I told you so," says Liam. Immediately, he feels embarrassed – he knows no one likes it when he says that.

"Yeah," says Harry, grip tightening on Liam's wrists – and oh, Liam is breathless, that's right, they're holding each other's arms – "I'll listen to you next time."

And, well. That's sort of nice to hear. Liam would enjoy it more if he wasn't so focused on how Harry's forearms feel in his grasp, and -

"What are your tattoos for?" he asks.

Harry pulls back to look at his arms himself, as if he can't quite remember. "Loads of things," he says, after careful consideration. "Some are for people, like this one is for my mum." He pushes his arm down and shows Liam a capital 'A', tiny and pressed into the inside of his elbow. "Some of the others... just liked the way they looked, I guess."

Liam can still feel a tingle in his hands where they were touching, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. Nothing about Harry makes sense. "Weren't you worried?" he says at last. "About what people would think?"

Something in Harry's gaze makes Liam nervous; it's assessing, maybe. "I used to care," he answers, softer than he really needs to be. "But they're just tattoos, yeah? 'M not hurting anyone. They're just me."

 

One afternoon turns quite quickly into another afternoon, the one afterwards, then most afternoons for weeks. It's too easy, almost, to get to know Harry, because he tells Liam everything like it's no big deal and he's always inviting Liam into the bakery like it's his house and Liam is a friend who's dropped around to visit, even when it's just a trip to get a loaf of bread and a carton of milk for his mum. They have a lot of small talks with big amounts of... something. Liam doesn't know how Harry does it, this thing where he invites Liam in, sits him down with something small and leftover and 'on the house' and then starts talking about this new tea he's started drinking, one his mum recommended to him, and how clear his head feels. Soon enough Liam finds himself talking back, even though he can't help but be nervous he's going to say something wrong. Harry looks at him with his chin in his hand, eyes all sparkly and strange, and acts as though everything Liam says is worth listening to.

 

He should have been more aware.

The next day at breakfast, Liam's spreading butter on his toast and getting ready for work and his mum leans over and says, "I heard you were at the bakery chatting to that new lad," and his heart sinks.

He's not even sure why it bothers him, that she mentions it. It's not like he was doing anything wrong. It's not like no one was going to notice. Everyone notices everything. Not that there was anything to see.

Maybe that's it. Maybe he's scared it looks like there was something to notice.

"Yeah," he replies, delayed, reaching for the jam. It's raspberry, the one he doesn't really like, but it's all they've got until it runs out, because they're not going to spend money on something they don't need. Maybe he'll get to choose a flavour this time if he offers to do the shopping for his mum. "He's not exactly new, now. He's been here a few months."

"Well, then...what's he like?" his mum pushes. "It's been awhile since we had anyone new, hasn't it? Geoff, when did the Mackenzies move in?"

Liam's dad _hmm_ s, thinking. "Two years?"

"Weren't they here for that Christmas, though? The one where-"

Liam starts to tune his parents' conversation out, hoping the topic change has gotten him out of having to talk, since they're probably not going to listen. He finishes his toast mostly in silence, and ignores the squirming feeling in his stomach. People were talking about him and Harry.

 

Work drags, monotonous enough that it's not really distracting and hard enough that he's exhausted halfway through the day. He should have been more aware of how things between them look, of how much he lights up when Harry hikes up that whole hill just to say hi during Liam's lunchbreak.

Speaking of. They make it five minutes, Liam guesses, before a frown tugs at the edge of Harry's mouth. "Liam," he says, slow and drawn out. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," says Liam, but he's a crap liar, always has been. Couldn't even lie to Ruth and Nicola about what he was getting them for their birthdays, so pretty soon they stopped asking. He misses them.

"Oookay," says Harry, showing he's about as convinced as Liam thought he'd be, but to Liam's relief, he doesn't pursue it. He lets Liam keep his distance for the whole half hour of break, both of them eating in silence.

It's only as Harry is leaving, the two of them headed back to their respective work, that he turns to Liam and says, "I didn't do anything, right?"

Liam is taken aback, and the "What?" that slips out of his mouth is purely instinctive.

"I didn't upset you?" Harry bites his lip. "Only – if I did, you can tell me, yeah? I'd rather know."

Liam has to tell him _something_ , he decides. He can't let Harry walk around thinking he's the reason Liam is so –

"My parents said someone told them about how much we've been hanging out – not that that's bad. Just. Hate feeling like I'm being _watched._ It's like I'm being spied on, or whatever."

Harry seems relieved, mixed with something else Liam can't put his finger on. "Oh, okay. Sure. That... that would suck, actually." He shifts, rubs the side of one shoe on the ankle of the other. "Would you rather I didn't come tomorrow?"

Liam imagines his break wihout Harry's company, chattery or quiet, and he's not a fan. "Nah, still want to see you."

Harry smiles, puts his hands in his pockets, and turns and lopes off.

 

A week and two days later, Liam is sipping at a carton of chocolate milk that Harry all but forced upon him, elbows on the counter, one leg kicking vaguely back and forth, when Harry hurries out of the back room. He leans on the counter so his forearms brush Liam's and Liam shoots a quick glance around him, to make sure no one's there, no one's watching. Harry's mouth has an interesting twist to it, one Liam tries so very hard not to analyse. Because analysing involves staring.

"I'm going home next weekend, for the bank holiday," says Harry, slowly – not that that's anything new. His arm is really warm. Liam puts extra focus on his chocolate milk, even as his heart sinks. Harry's going away. Only for a few days, but.

"Sounds nice," he says. "Seein' your family?"

"Yeah." Harry smiles. "Mum, step-dad, big sister. Miss 'em." He clears his throat. "Anyway, I was wondering if you're busy then?"

Liam is almost never busy, other than work, or maybe if it's Ruth or Nicola's birthdays. "Just work," he says, and he wonders what Harry needs him to do. "Do you need help running the place while you're gone? 'Cause I can man a register but that's about it."

Harry's eyes squint then widen. It's comical, but Liam wouldn't dare laugh at him. "Oh! No, no, it's not that. Uhm, pretty sure the others have got me covered. Actually..." He pauses, chews his bottom lip. Liam looks at his eyes. "I was wondering if you'd like to come with me?"

Liam blinks. "I – what?"

"Come with me," Harry repeats, more confident and more hesitant at the same time. He looks down at the counter, draws a little invisible circle with one long finger. "You've shown me basically everything there is here, and it'd be cool to show you London, you know? What I know of it, anyway." His tone curls, like he's smiling even though Liam's pretty sure he's not. "I've told my family a lot about you."

It's suddenly bloody hot in the bakery. And Liam's stomach has settled wonderfully. He can see a lot of himself, in that moment, in the loaves of bread baking out back. "I," he says. He closes his mouth.

"Liammm," Harry says, tiptoeing right next door to pleading. That's apparently all it takes.

"Okay. I'll think about it."

"Yes!" Harry seems nothing short of delighted. "Okay, great, it's going to be great. I can't wait."

With that, he pushes back, one fingernail catching the edge of Liam's wrist, and hurries to serve the customers who've just walked in.

 

Liam has to tell his parents.

This is the first obstacle. There are many other obstacles, like getting time off work, and figuring out if going is a terrible idea, and what to pack. But before any of that he has to tell his parents.

He spends most of the day at work wondering what each person who comes in would tell him to do. For example, he's pretty sure the Murphy's girl, who lives a few blocks away from them, who his parents always wanted him to go out with despite them never having had a real conversation, would tell him not to go, to stay here. He can almost imagine her voice, kind of soft, "S' safer, innit?"

One of the blokes who works with Liam's dad would probably tell him to break it to them slow. Liam's thinking about this as he watches him browse the shelves of cereal towards the back of the shop. "Take it bit by bit," he'd say, "present it like an opportunity."

Old Mrs Wright would probably tell him to go without asking them at all. She's one of those old ladies. He tries not to smile more than is polite while he's bagging her five packets of crisps and charging her for her petrol.

 

He's building himself up to it the whole way home, keeps squaring his shoulders and imagining standing in front of his parents and saying, _"I'm going away for a few days next week with Harry from the bakery, see you when I get back,"_ as casually as possible. He doesn't want it to _sound_ like he's asking. Because he's not, not really.

Only, he never does things like this. He knows they're going to be concerned, and while he _can_ do whatever he wants, he knows they worry.

They're having mash for dinner, with peas and corn as the aside. Liam helps his mum finish up the dinner preparations and sets the table. His parents talk about work. It builds and builds inside Liam, until finally he says, "Soooo."

His parents look up. His dad looks concerned; his mum is more difficult to figure out.

"I might go to London next week," Liam gets out.

His mum goes wide-eyed. "Oh?" she says. "What for?"

It should be harder, this bit, but Liam's riding on momentum now. "Harry's going back to see his family and said I could come."

There's a pause. "Did he ask you to?" says Liam's dad.

Liam swallows. "Yeah, he did, actually. Didn't even know he was going 'til he asked."

His parents shoot each other a look. Liam wishes he could read it, that he had any idea what they were silently saying.

"Sort it all out with him," says his mum slowly, and Liam feels his heart lift.

"'Kay."

 

He has to ask for time off work the next day, but since the last time he did it was for Ruth's birthday far earlier in the year, his boss doesn't seem to mind. Harry comes by at lunch with a question on the tip of his tongue, and Liam answers it before he gets a chance to ask.

"I've got time off."

Harry's face splits into a grin. "Excellent work," he says, holding his hand out for what Liam thinks is a fist bump. He hopes it is, because he bumps it.

Packing is a nightmare. Liam has no idea what kinds of things he'd need for a trip like this – he's never really done one, except for when Ruth took him into London overnight, but that was one night, and she was there. And Liam's mum had helped him pack that time. It was awhile ago.

He tosses back and forth a bit and ends up deciding better to overpack than under, even though he is a bit worried about looking like he's too worried or too eager. Better that than not having something he ends up needing. He's not sure he has the funds to buy things once he's there. In the end, it all fits into a backpack that, while heavy, he's confident he can carry around, and he has to hope for the best.

The plan is to leave on Friday and come back on the bank holiday Monday. Harry says they can stay with his mum, that accommodation and food isn't going to be an issue – Liam works his budget so he has a little leftover money to give her anyway – and that for the spare time there's a few friends Harry wants to catch up with. "You're gonna get the proper London experience," says Harry. Liam's not sure if that's something to be excited about.

 

Liam catches the bus to the train station on Friday morning. Harry is standing waiting on the platform, beanie pulled down over the tops of his ears. It proves how long his hair really is, falling in long wavy locks around his jaw and neck. He's holding his suitcase in one hand and looks half asleep on his feet.

"Morning," says Liam.

"Thank you for not saying 'good'," says Harry, barely opening his mouth. Liam can't help but smile at him. "Getting up this early is for yoga and nothing else."

Snorting, Liam checks the clock at the station for the time. "When's the train due?"

"In about fifteen minutes. Long enough for a nap," Harry answers and lies down on the bench.

The trip is uneventful. Liam's mum always says that's what you want, when you travel: uneventful. He and Harry find their seats on the train and Harry almost instantly pulls his beanie down over his eyes and tells Liam to wake him when they're in the city. Liam knows he's not really asleep, but he doesn't worry about it too much. He spends most of the trip looking out the window and listening to music. There's one place where they have to swap trains to get on the direct route to London, and that goes fine. They don't miss their connection. They don't lose any luggage along the way. Liam considers it a success.

"Gemma's gonna be waiting at the platform," Harry says after checking his phone, when they're nearly there. His shoulder rests against Liam's as he sits back, and Liam feels it acutely, each point of contact, the friction between the fabric of their two flannels. Harry had pointed them out with a low and serious, "Twinsies," which had made Liam laugh.

"Okay. You'll recognise her, then," says Liam, a little dry, and Harry grins.

"Sure hope so."

 

Harry nearly _doesn't_ recognise Gemma, and she has to call, "Oi! Over here!" before he sees her. He protests that it's only because she's so small as he pulls her into a hug. When they let go, Gemma turns to Liam and offers a hand to shake. He can see the resemblance immediately – the shape of her mouth and her brow are so Harry.

"I'm Gem. Harry's _big_ sister."

Liam shakes her hand. "I understand. Bigger. Older."

"Better," Harry sighs, and he nudges her arm. It's obvious to Liam that Harry and his sister like each other quite a lot.

London is big. London is big not like Gemma is big, but like – like the ocean or space. After being on the train so long and with so much around him, Liam is a bundle of firing nerves and energy. While Harry is still waking up, Gemma runs Liam through their schedule. They're going to their family's place for dinner, because "Mum and Robin are so excited to meet you, Mum's doing a big roast dinner and everything."

"To meet me," Liam repeats back. "She really doesn't have to, like–"

"You couldn't stop her if you tried," Gemma assures him solemnly. "Anyway, we'll stay with them the next day, too, cause Mum'll go bonkers if she doesn't get to see Harry properly, and then the Sunday morning you're meeting Niall and Louis and Zayn for brunch – you'll love them, promise, they're the nicest guys." The way she says it makes Liam realise his nerves must have shown on his face. "Then I think we're clear for the afternoon and evening. Haz'll probably want to take you 'round some places, I dunno–"

"Gem," says Harry quickly, "we don't have to give _everything_ away, we've only been in London an hour."

"Right." Gemma shrugs, somewhat sheepish, and says to Liam, "Sorry. Just tend to like knowing what to expect, myself."

"No, it's okay." Liam likes Gemma, he thinks. "Me too. Thank you."

Harry huffs and then yawns and rests his head on Liam's shoulder. Liam – there are people all around them, crowding through the station, but it doesn't feel like any of them are really watching. They just push through, and past, and there must be so many young guys in this city. Liam has felt invisible before, but he's never felt like it was such a good thing, a freeing thing.

 

They catch a cab to Harry's mum's place, and it's cooler inside. Gemma sits in the front while Liam and Harry get in the back, and they're quiet for a little while before Liam turns to Harry and says, "What was that old bloke on the train doing, anyway?"

Harry makes a loud, slightly hurt, mostly amused, vaguely outraged noise. "I _know_! We didn't do anything, and then he's all –" He does a surprisingly good imitation of the exact movements and facial expressions the man did, surprising a laugh out of Liam. The thing is, with Harry, once he gets Liam laughing, they both find it quite hard to stop. Recounting the events to each other and Gemma, it feels a bit to Liam like they laugh the whole way to Harry's mum's, even though the drive lasts much longer than that.

 

It's only when the cab stops that the nerves wash back over Liam, like a bucket of ice. Liam hasn't met anyone's parents for a long time; he dated a girl for a few months in sixth form, so he met her parents, but he already knew her parents, since his mum and her dad were coworkers, and her mum was a teacher at Liam's school.

And this is nothing like that.

For example, Harry's step-dad opens the door. He's a very dad type of man, Liam thinks – could probably pass as Santa if dressed the right way and with a suitable fake beard – but he's also intimidating. Liam focuses hard on keeping his handshake firm and confident, and gets what he very much hopes is a nod of approval in return. "Come on in, lad."

Liam steps inside as Robin greets Harry and Gemma. Their house is warmer than it was outside, which is actually nice as the sun starts to set, and the house smells like food and garden in the best ways. Harry follows him in, huffing a little with his suitcase, but still grins. Liam smiles back, and it comes easier than he thought it would.

"You're blocking the road, Harry," says Gemma, from somewhere outside still.

"Oh, sorry." Turning to Liam, he gestures ahead of them. "After you."

Liam turns down the hall and walks. His heart is beating fast, faster –

"Mum?" calls Harry, poking his head around the doorframe.

Harry's mum looks like him and Gemma, all dimples and kind eyes and an accent that matches theirs. She hugs Harry tight and kisses his cheek and tells him he looks tired, "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

Harry closes his eyes and says, "Hi, you good?" in response. The way he tucks his chin over her shoulder makes Liam want a hug, too.

"Mum, this is Liam," says Harry, pulling back. "Liam, my mum, Anne. Is it okay if he calls you Anne?"

"Course it is," says Anne. Liam is reminded to be careful what he wishes for because she wraps him in a hug, the kind that would make stronger men than him melt and tuck their faces in the crook of her neck. Momentarily, Liam finds himself frozen, but he manages to co-ordinate and hug back before it gets awkward. He hasn't had a hug in awhile.

"Nice to meet you, too," he says, almost on autopilot, when she lets him go, "thank you for having me."

"You're absolutely welcome," she assures him and shoots Harry a look Liam doesn't understand. "We've heard so much about you, after all, it's a pleasure."

Liam didn't expect that, for some reason, despite what Harry had told him. His look of surprise must catch Harry's attention, because he cuts in, "What's for dinner, Mum?"

Anne lights up. "We're doing roast vegetables, and I've got a chicken in there too to cook up, and dessert."

"Anything I can do to help?" Liam offers, his own mum's voice nagging in the back of his mind.

Anne looks at Harry, that strange look again. "Keeping this one," she decides, putting a hand on Liam's elbow. "We're keeping him."

 

Dinner is quite an affair: potatoes, broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, and some leafy greens all fried up that Liam doesn't recognise. There's a chicken and a leg of lamb and a brand of wine with a name he can't pronounce, and an apple pie is cooling on the counter.

He and Harry chop things to be cooked, help set the table, and, in Harry's case, break a wine glass. It's a good use of an afternoon, helps use up the energy Liam had built up on the train.

Liam thinks that eating itself will be – difficult or awkward, but Harry's family are nothing but lovely and chatty. He feels a little out of place, but not too much. They uphold a lot of conversation themselves, giving him time to eat, and then ask him some questions – usual things, like what he does, what he likes to do, whether Harry's been giving him any trouble. It makes Liam laugh. His answers are still a little stumbly, a little difficult – but it's alright. They carry on.

There are a few strange looks, though. Little pulls at Gemma's mouth and attentive nods from Robin and soft, almost comforting tilts to Anne's eyebrows. Harry avoids most of them, looks at Liam instead. Liam doesn't mind that.

 

They set him up in the guest room after a few hours of chatting, because it's getting late and according to Gemma and Harry, they have a big day tomorrow. Their guest room is so _nice,_ soft sheets and a purple duvet and simple, matching furniture, like the kind Liam's seen in the magazines they stock at the shop.

"It's two nights, so I figured you'd just bunk in with me, but..." Harry shrugs. "Mum like, compulsively needs to be a good host."

"I don't _mind,_ " Liam says, even though sleeping in the same room as Harry would be nice. "It's not exactly the stable, is it."

Harry laughs. "Guess not."

He looks like he doesn't really want to leave, so Liam says, "You can sit down."

"Should probably get to bed, really," says Harry, but he sits down on the floor anyway, legs crossed with the soles of his feet turned up, feet both on the inside of his knees. Liam's never been flexible enough to do that, so he's decently impressed. "I know it's been a big day for you."

"Yeah," Liam admits, because it has been. "That's okay, though." He doesn't want to sound too eager for Harry to stay... but he is. And Harry hasn't minded, Harry doesn't seem to mind. Harry's so different in that way. In every way, really.

They end up talking until midnight. Liam wishes he wished they hadn't.

 

The next morning, Liam is bouncy and heavy with first-day sleep deprivation, alert but fuzzy through his limbs. He wakes up early-ish due to unfamiliar surroundings, rolls over and nearly rolls off the bed. In his room the wall is on the left of his bed; here, evidently, he finds by the open space he almost tumbles into, this is not the case.

He's not sure what he's supposed to do after that, so he finds himself in the living room, looking at the shelves full of books, CDs, DVDs. Some are titles he recognises – movies like The Notebook, which he's never seen, or the Titanic, which he has. Others are totally new to him – he doesn't know who the Hush Sound were, or are, but there's a CD of theirs here – Like Vines – in between Elvis and a best of the early 2000's mix.

"Good morning," says Harry from behind him, and Liam can't help but jump and turn like he was doing something wrong. Harry laughs, rubs at his eye with a fist. He's half-asleep still, and it's a good look on him.

"Thought you didn't like people saying that," Liam says, as he sits back on the carpet. Adds, to be safe, "Sorry, was only curious."

"Sorry for what?" Harry sits down opposite him and leans across him, "This is _such_ a good album."

"What's it like?" Liam says.

"It's like." Harry chews his lip. He's got the case of Like Vines in his hands, and it's dwarfed by the length of his fingers. Liam has to look at something else. He looks at the carpet. "Red lipstick and purple velvet. Outside. In a park. On a family picnic."

There's a brief pause before Liam can't refrain from laughing any more, and Harry only looks offended for a stylistic moment before he's laughing too, sliding the CD back into the shelf.

"Mum's probably gonna have us on errands today," he warns Liam.

"I'm fine with errands." And Liam is. He's never really minded errands. They're better than chores, at any rate, he figures.

Harry whistles. "You better be."

 

"Groceries, craft shop, and then hardware shop," Liam reads out off their list. "So hardware shop next?"

Harry wasn't joking about the errands. The pair of them have been going between shops and products and prices for most of the morning; Liam really doesn't know why Anne didn't come herself, since they've had to spend half the time on the phone with her. Still, it's been nice to hang out with Harry. It's a bit domestic, really, Liam pushing the trolley and Harry talking to cashiers, but that's not a complaint either.

"Hardware shop," Harry repeats back. "She wants nails and a hammer; some attic project." The way he says it is like _you know what I mean,_ when Liam completely doesn't, because his mum never needs a hammer and nails for an attic project, but he'll take Harry's word for it.

The hardware shop _smells_ like a hardware shop. It's the smell that gets to Liam, like sawdust and something he associates with boys even though he knows tools aren't really just boys' things. He mentions this to Harry and Harry says, "It's 'cause they make all cologne smell like dust and boring stuff," which makes Liam laugh despite himself.

They get a hammer, and nails, and a screwdriver just because Harry likes it.

"What do you mean, you like it?" Liam asks, baffled.

"I just do," Harry decides. It has a red and black handle and a Phillip's head on it. "We're getting it."

"Alright," Liam agrees, unable to help the grin on his face, "alright. Fine, Styles. Let's just go."

When they get home, Gemma has set up a game of Monopoly in the living room. By the time they deliver the groceries to the kitchen, the craft shop things to Gemma's desk, and the hardware shop things to the attic, she's impatiently waiting at the doorway. "C'mon, you two!" she fusses. "Look at you both. Proper dumb-and-dumber."

Liam stiffens, unable to help it, and Harry catches his gaze. "Be _nice,_ Gem," he insists, and he reaches out to rest his hand against the small of Liam's back.

It's not the kind of place Liam normally gets touched, and Harry's hand feels far hotter than it should through Liam's shirt. The uncomfortable tight feeling in his throat and tummy is replaced by another slightly uncomfortable feeling in his hands and his face, something almost burny, prickling. He doesn't want it to stop.

"Sorry," says Harry in a low voice, when Gemma turns back to the money she's sorting, "she-"

"S'okay," Liam replies, maybe a little quick. "I'm fine, doesn't matter."

"You're really clever. Just so you know." Harry turns around, "I want to be the boot!"

Monopoly takes up most of the rest of the afternoon. Liam isn't particularly good at Monopoly – he always does alright for the first little while and then recklessly tries to buy Park Lane from Gemma right before landing on one of Harry's properties armed with hotels, subsequently going bankrupt. He feels better when he sees how bad Harry is, though. Gemma has them both out by the time dinner comes around.

Liam always prefers being in his own house, up in his room. By himself, normally. But the second dinner with Harry's family is far more comfortable; he's not at ease, quite, but he finds himself chattering to Gemma before he can quite get himself to shut up and answering Anne's questions without wanting the ground to swallow him up after every single one. Harry keeps beaming at him around mouthfuls of the pizza they ordered in. Liam smiles back, even though he's worried he's being a bit much, because Harry doesn't seem worried at all.

 

They head out to brunch at about nine the next day, showered and both of them a little giggly. Liam can feel the effects of not enough sleep, but he's okay. It's not debilitating; it's like being a little tipsy instead of drunk. He manages to still be nervous on the Tube, even as Harry goes on about the friends they're meeting up with. Liam can tell Harry really loves them, is really excited to see them. The idea that maybe Harry talks about him like that when he's not there makes his stomach roll, but not in a bad way.

 

By about ten minutes in, Liam is pretty sure the worry was for nothing. Harry's friends are nice, like Gemma said, but they're also funny and welcoming and – and gentle. Zayn is all sharp jaw and syrupy, dozey eyes, and he's scattered in tattoos, more than Harry – Liam can see now why Harry didn't think tattoos were as big a deal. He calls Harry _babe_ at the end of every other sentence, like a mum would.

Niall is bottle blonde and affectionate, kisses Harry's cheek to say hello. He's got the type of smile Liam feels would be difficult to photograph, because it's not a moment, it's a motion, one that makes Liam feel good, like he's the one who smiled. He's the first one to say hi to Liam, too.

And Louis is soft and cocky, with a sweet raspy voice and a quick, unique sense of humour. He's very himself, Liam thinks, idiosyncratic. He sits next to Liam at the table and is already bumping elbows and sharing jokes with him by the time Harry gets around to introducing them properly. Liam isn't sure he knows the rules to this game Louis wants to play, but that doesn't mean he wants it to stop.

The most remarkable thing about all of them is the way they treat each other. Liam's never seen a group of mates – a group of anyone – who combine this laughter with this slowness, the way Zayn has a hand curled around Niall's neck, thumb rubbing up behind his ear, and how Louis calls Harry on every ridiculous thing he says without Harry's smile faltering. When they order, Niall orders for all of them, and it's either just Liam's imagination, or Louis reaches under the table to take Zayn's hand. The sight of it gives Liam a tingling down his back.

It's still a bit weird in other ways. They ask him similar questions to Harry's parents, about his job and his interests and his family, and then it's Louis who says, "And I'm assuming your intentions with our Harold are nothing but pure?"

"Louissss," sighs Harry as Zayn snickers into his drink and Niall snorts into Zayn's shoulder. "Don't tease him."

Louis disregards him entirely. "Mr Payne," he pushes "you'll have him home every night before ten, and no kissing before you're married, understood?"

"Haz'd die, going that long kissing nobody," Niall mutters.

Liam can feel the heat quickly rising to his cheeks. He gets what they're implying – and that they're joking, he's pretty sure – but it's awkward for him. The way they joke about it isn't the same as how Liam's been teased in the past, but it tugs at the same sensitive strings in his chest.

On the other hand, there's barely room for breath between Zayn and Louis and Niall and Harry, and they're doing okay for themselves. No one has stared or hissed at them, even when Zayn and Harry whisper and Zayn engulfs half his ear in his mouth.

In fact, no one seems to take very much notice of each other at all. Harry, Louis, Zayn, Niall, they notice each other, but outside of that it's like the other people in the cafe might as well not exist.

It's strangest when Harry leans over and bumps shoulders with Liam and giggles into his neck. Liam glances across the table, and – Zayn smiles. He's watching Harry, mostly, Liam thinks. Louis rolls his eyes, also at Harry, hopefully. Niall says, "Alright there, Liam?"

And, yeah. "Yeah," says Liam. "Am." He's never felt like this, this sensation that other people seeing him – is okay. Doesn't matter, even. And with Harry there, sitting close and laughing lots, it seems like it's the best feeling in the world.

Brunch spills easily over into the afternoon, becoming lunch and then some in-between siesta that Liam can't really describe. Zayn nods off with his head on Niall's shoulder, and Louis tells Liam, with the greatest enthusiasm Liam has seen from him, about his little siblings, all six of them. He pulls up photos on his phone, and it's cute, how many of the pictures have one of the others in the background; Louis's twin little sisters standing in the kitchen, and Niall sitting on the counter behind them; Zayn asleep on the couch with one of the babies sitting up against his side. An older photo shows Harry, holding one of the kids upside down – his hair is much shorter, tied up in what looks like a scarf. Deep in his chest, Liam gets a resounding ache.

He's laughing, is all, in the photo, and he's younger, if only by a year or two. Liam can see it in his face. There are a few less tattoos on his arms.

"She's cute, right?" Louis sighs, gleeful and proud as he adds, "A bloody menace, too."

"Yeah," says Liam slowly. "She is. I – Cute, I mean."

Louis gives Liam a look that's a little too knowing, but there's nothing there, nothing angry or scornful. Instead, he launches into telling Liam about the day the photo was taken, how his sister had literally nearly set the kitchen on fire.

Eventually, things wrap up. There are goodbyes and Harry's eyes get a bit watery. Niall coos and Louis laughs at him and Zayn pushes his hair out of his face and assures him it'll be fine, he can train in any weekend he wants, they've not forgotten about him.

"Promise you won't," Harry says. "Promise."

"Promise," says Zayn. His tone is indulgent, but his face is too genuine for it.

"Was lovely to meet you, too, Liam!" says Niall, and the three of them pile on Liam faster than he can react. Harry laughs from behind them, throws his head back, and it's warm in the grip of all of them. Liam likes it even though he can't move his arms.

They go their separate ways; Louis and Niall are sharing a cab, and Zayn's heading to his uni. Harry nods his head and beckons to Liam.

"Where to now?" Liam asks.

"I have plans," answers Harry simply.

 

They catch a train from the nearest station up to Charing Cross, and from there Harry walks Liam to a bus stop. This looks the most like London out of everywhere they've been, like photos Liam's seen. It's weird to walk and watch the buildings pass, three-dimensional and present. He almost feels like they're cut-outs wallpapered along the street, all the same.

After a few minutes, an open-top double-decker bus pulls up at the stop, a large advertisement on the side telling Liam that it's a tour bus. The people already on board pile off, and Harry grins and says, "C'mon," and Liam follows him in.

Harry talks to the driver briefly, and Harry hands over the type of money that makes a lump of anxiety swell in Liam's chest.

"You don't have to pay for me," he tells Harry quietly, and Harry shakes his head.

"I know. Let's get up top before everyone else beats us there. You know I lived here all my life, and I've never actually done this?"

"Really?" says Liam as they walk up a small flight of stairs at the back of the bus and up into the open air. They're quite high up, but the buildings rise far above them. There's a wind, too, which Liam imagines is coming from the River Thames, and it whips Harry's hair about. Harry reaches for one of the hair ties on his wrist.

"No point, is there? I've passed all these things so many times. It'll be fun to do with someone who's never seen them before." Harry puts the hair tie in his mouth as he pulls all his hair into a bunch in one fist. His next words are a little muffled. "It's easy to take things for granted, and all."

The tour is amazing, better than Liam thought it would be. They see Westminster Abbey, and the Tower of London and the London Eye and Big Ben. The last of which really is a large clock, which is strangely great. Harry seems amused by Liam's excitement about it, the kind he forgets to shut down before it's too late, but – the whole city runs to this clock. Liam imagines all the gears inside it, how each one pushes and is pushed. He wonders what happens if one of them breaks. The whole clock musn't just stop, but each gear has to be necessary to be there.

"How do they make sure it never stops?" he asks aloud at last, watching the huge minute hand crank one notch forward as the bus stops in some traffic. "It never breaks or anything?"

"Well, everyone's looking at it all the time," Harry says slowly. "If it was telling the wrong time, someone would notice right away. There are probably people monitoring it all the time on the inside. Doesn't have a chance to break, I expect."

Liam looks back up at the clock face, imagines again all the gears and cogs and bolts hidden from view, and thinks about it until the tour host starts talking again about something on the other side of the bus.

When that roundtrip ends, they get Starbucks from the place near the station and take a walk further up through the city. Liam keeps craning his neck back to look at all the different buildings, and Harry has to save him a few times from walking into people on the crowded footpath. They end up in Trafalgar Square, where Harry takes the opportunity to chase some pigeons and take some photos. Liam doesn't realise he's being photographed looking at one of the fountains until the sound effect on Harry's phone camera goes off. Harry smiles and holds it out for him to see. "Thought you looked nice," he says simply.

And maybe Liam does look nice. It's a good photo, considering Harry snapped it on his phone. Liam standing profile-view, gazing up at the water, light falling in a particular way. Liam feels like he'd be able to describe it better if he knew more about photography. As is, he hands Harry's phone back and says, "I really like it."

"You look nice," Harry repeats. Liam's face flushes, he can feel it. His instinct is to look around them, but he remembers brunch, remembers Niall's cheek kiss and Zayn's hands through Harry's hair and how no one stopped to stare. No one's going to be looking, he tells himself. And if they are, he'll be lost in the crowd in a moment. Instead, he looks at Harry, at how his smile makes the air around him seem clearer, how the shadow of the late afternoon sun falls across his knuckles, the way his eyelashes move when he blinks.

"You too," Liam replies. He means it.

They stay in Trafalgar until the sun sets, so Liam can see the fountains at night (and he's glad he gets to, they're beautiful in a simple way that's easy to appreciate), and then Liam starts to get properly hungry, despite how much he ate at brunch.

"All good," laughs Harry, when he hears Liam's stomach grumble, "there's a nice place not too far from here."

Prezzo is a small Italian restaurant – "Nothing classy," Harry warns Liam with a smile, as if Liam minds, as if Liam has ever eaten at somewhere that qualifies as 'classy' in his life – and it has strange colours on the walls. They find a table for two in a corner, and they're served without too long a wait.

"I dunno what to get," Liam tells Harry, nervous. He doesn't really know what any of the food on the menu is going to taste like, even though he obviously recognises things like spaghetti and pizza.

"It's my shout." Harry smiles a bit. "Give it a try, Liam. No harm in trying."

Liam does this time.

Harry mucks about in the wait for their food, sees how many straws he can thread into each other, and then makes a stack of them with napkins in the middle, like a jenga tower. Liam keeps laughing despite the way it makes people look at them, because how Harry lights up is worth it.

 

It's not that Liam's never met anyone with Harry's traits. He's met nice people. He's met people who were goofy, who had long hair. He supposes he met Zayn and Louis earlier that day, so he's met other people with tattoos. It's not those things, it's just that Harry is _more_ than everyone else, he's different in a way Liam can't put into words. Liam feels more like himself around Harry. He didn't realise he wasn't feeling like himself before.

 

Late that night, they end up by the River Thames. It's chillier than it has been, one of winter's last foot-stomping grumbles before it leaves. Harry especially seems to be feeling it, draws in closer to Liam as they look out over the water. It's not a particularly lovely river, but there's something magical about any water when it's mixed with bright lights and nighttime. It barely feels like real nighttime, anyway. The horizon keeps on glowing after the sun has set.

Harry's shoulder presses Liam's, a brush of the square-hemmed corners of their jackets, and then a proper press, so Liam can feel a little bit of the person there, too. They're not close enough to see their reflections in the water, not nearly, but Liam feels like he can see Harry without looking at him. Everything inside him glows like the horizon, like the streetlights and the buildings. All they're doing is standing there, and Liam feels every inch of it.

"Had a good day?" asks Harry, softly. His voice shouldn't be striking – it's hardly like it's silent, with all the noise of the people and the cars and the life around them.

"Great," Liam promises. Harry has pushed closer to his side. "Really, really great. I feel –" He stops. He feels a lot, and he doesn't know how much of it is too much to say, how to say he doesn't want it to end and for once, for once he feels like his skin isn't the wrong size for him.

"You feel?" Harry encourages, his hand brushing the edge of Liam's. Their pinkies catch, and – and then they're holding hands.

The word on the tip of Liam's tongue is somewhere between _safe_ and _alive_ , something to express the feeling of standing on the edge of the river, the edge of something else.

"Yeah," he whispers, and squeezes Harry's hand tight.

 

The spare room is at the top of the landing, and they have to sneak up the stairs with the lightest steps so they don't wake up the rest of Harry's family. It feels odd, saying goodnight here. Standing with one hand around the other wrist, head ducked forward so he's looking up through his lashes, Harry doesn't want to seem to go, either. But Liam's tired. Everything around him is blurry with sleep, and they're travelling a lot the next day.

"G'night," he says at last, offering Harry a little smile as his hand finds the doorknob.

"Yeah," Harry murmurs back, "see you in the morning."

 

The trip back is surreal. Liam could have sworn they only just arrived, and then Gemma's hugging them both goodbye on the platform, and Harry's found them seats, and he's resting his head against the window and watching London slowly, and then faster, chug away from them.

They're quiet. Harry reads a book; Liam listens to music with one earbud in. It's the album Harry had on his shelf, the Hush Sound one. Liam downloaded it out of curiosity, and he's not sure whether he likes it or not, yet. He's only four tracks in, though. Time left to decide.

Something in Liam's heart starts to speed up, slowly, the way the train goes from a halt to a crawl to a proper speed as it pulls out of each station along the way. On his last day of school, he'd felt like this, like he was hurtling towards a cliff, but he was strangely calm about it.

The last track on the album is really sad. Really, really sad, and Liam has difficulty pinpointing why. He's still not sure if he likes any of it, but he wants to listen to it again.

 

"I'll see you?" says Harry, one foot in hopeful and the other on the bus he's about to get on. Liam's doesn't come for another ten minutes.

"Lunch?" says Liam.

Harry nods, opens his mouth, but the bus driver says, "Lad, on or off?" and he turns there instead.

"Sorry, sorry. Bye, Liam!"

"Bye." Liam can't help smiling a bit, even when the bus driver gives him a glare past Harry's shoulder. At the same time, he resists the urge to grab Harry's shirt and keep him from going.

 

The bus trip the rest of the way home is quiet, uneventful. Liam sees Hannah Whitman get on a few minutes after he does, meaning he's back where people recognise him, where he knows everyone. Hannah looks the same as she did when he left. He doesn't know if he was expecting her to look anything else. He knows that he doesn't look different, either.

It's a few minute walk from the stop to his house. The same walk he's done every day, almost, since he was little, going to school and then to work, and not much has changed in that time. One of the houses used to be blue and is now white; one of the fences has been taken down and replaced with an open front yard; the Sanders moved their dog kennel.

He comes in the front door and calls, "I'm home!" and for a moment, there's no response.

Then he hears, "Liam! In the kitchen, love," and he pokes his head in there to find his mum drying the lunch dishes. Putting down her tea towel, she hurries over to hug him, and he smells shepherd's pie, and he realises he did miss her, a bit. Not gutwrenchingly so, but enough to be happy to see her.

"How was your trip?" she's asking. "Wait, no, don't tell me, we can all talk about it over dinner with your father when he gets home. Harry got home safely, right? Did you tell him to call or text when he did?"

"I – yeah, no, he's good, um – is that shepherd's pie?" He pulls back and feels the weight of his backpack pulling his shoulders down as he straightens.

"We're doing it for dinner! You can help me, actually."

Liam feels – disoriented, like it's too early to be back in this routine, but he says, "Sure, of course, just let me take my bag upstairs."

It's not a relief to be back in his own room. It's a relief to sprawl down on the bed, for a moment, which he does, but it's not a relief that he's _back_ , that it's his space, or anything, and he feels like the way people talk about travel, it should be, even though he wasn't away for that long.

 

Harry's smile seems crumbly the day after next, like biscuits left in the oven too long. He sits down next to Liam and sighs a soft, "Hey."

It's been a weird day for them both, Liam takes it. Yesterday, he'd been riding off the high of the excitement of it all, had kept remembering things that had happened and started to smile into the air.

Today has been different. He's been on auto-pilot the whole way through his shift, and he keeps thinking of Harry and London, and Harry, and London, and Zayn and Louis and Niall and Gemma and London. And Harry.

"Hey," Liam echoes. He takes in the slant of Harry's shoulders, the way he's letting his head hang forward so his wavy hair falls in front of his face.

There's silence as Liam starts on his lunch, a sandwich of last night's salad. Nice food, really, Liam is enjoying it. But he's more worried about Harry. "Is – is there something I can do?" he asks, after swallowing a bite. He isn't sure there'd be a lot of point asking whether Harry is okay since he's clearly not.

"Just company's enough," Harry mumbles, offering Liam that same tight smile.

So, Liam talks for most of their time, besides when he's eating, and Harry listens, sometimes supplies a small, few-word reply here and there. It's a warm day, but that doesn't stop Harry huddling closer to Liam than usual, and honestly, it's not like Liam minds. Harry radiates warmth even from a few inches away.

Things get quiet again when Liam has about ten minutes left. When it starts to drag, Harry takes a breath, runs his hands over his face. "Wasn't homesick before," he admits. "Not when I moved in, not when I went back. Am now, though."

"Oh," says Liam, and he realises Harry is holding himself back when he sees how hard Harry is biting down on his bottom lip. "Hey, it's – it's okay." He fights his own hesitance, his own thumping heart, and opens his arms. "Come here?"

Harry really does – he races, collapses, melts into Liam, like he was barely refraining from it before. Harry is warm everywhere and so solid, so full.

Liam rubs a hand down his back and up again over his shoulder blade. Harry gives a shaky sigh and nuzzles his head down into Liam's shoulder, so Liam can feel the shape of his nose, the way the fabric of his shirt rubs Harry's cheek. A stray curl of his hair brushes Liam's jaw. Liam wants to keep him there, wants to keep him wrapped up and safe and –

They sit locked together until Liam's boss calls for him to come back to the till. Harry's hands drag all the way down to Liam's elbows before they fall away.

"You going to be okay?" Liam asks, and his voice comes out hardly louder than a whisper. It's instinct, the way he pushes Harry's hair out of his face and tucks it behind his ear. Harry's always complaining about it when he doesn't have a hair tie on him.

Harry nods, gives him another smile. This one is smaller, less pained and more grateful, if Liam's reading it right. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Welcome." Liam feels like something in his chest was apart and needed to be together, and he didn't realise it until he hugged Harry. It's drifting again, though, like that might be the only way to keep it there. "Any time."

"Liam!" calls his boss.

"Bye," says Harry, getting to his feet and heading away down the hill. Liam is late, but he watches Harry go anyway.

 

He can't sleep because he's thinking about holding Harry. He can't sleep because he didn't even _think_ about it at the time, he reached out and pulled Harry close and it was easy, and he knew what to do, and he made Harry feel better. It felt good for him, too, it felt like a natural thing to offer. Something good Liam could give at no cost to himself. The memory is warm and he _feels_ it every time he thinks about it, until an ache is steady in his chest and he has to let his eyes flutter closed.

He can't sleep like this.

Sighing, he rolls over onto his side, faces the wall. His arm hooks around his pillow and he pulls it in so he can rest his head on it and hold it to his chest at the same time.

Harry makes him happy, makes him feel like himself. Liam doesn't feel safe thinking that, even in his room, here by himself at night. But it's true enough for the walls to feel too close on all his sides and for his hands to have to rub over his face to shake himself out of it.

 

Every day at lunchtime break, Harry walks up the hill and sits with Liam as he eats. Sometimes he brings Liam a flavoured milk or a leftover cupcake, and sometimes he chatters about the business and how things are going and how he's starting to feel good about it, how he's almost starting to feel settled.

Liam could not be further from. Something different is in the air between them and it won't go away no matter how many times Liam turns a blind eye to it, and he feels like everywhere he walks he can figure out the distance between him and the edge of town. It's never very far. With that in mind, it's hard for him to be fully relaxed with Harry. There are always people they know nearby, always someone prepared to read more – to read _anything_ – into what's going on.

He doesn't realise how his distance is projecting until Harry brings him a strawberry milk one day and sits down beside him on the bench and says, "You've been strange."

And – well. That doesn't sound like a lunch break conversation comment, in Liam's opinion. "What do you mean, 'strange'?"

"From everything in London, I thought–" Harry cuts himself off. "I don't know. I thought you'd, like." He huffs, frustrated. "We're...something, aren't we? Or we have something?"

Panic squeezes Liam's chest before he even has a chance to process what Harry is saying. He doesn't know how to describe how strangled he feels at the idea of Harry and him in this place. Doesn't know if Harry would really understand, even if Liam could, for once, find the right words. "I – Harry, listen."

"Listening," offers Harry, and Liam doesn't know where to go from there.

The silence becomes prolonged. "You've been weird for days," Harry persists eventually, but something about it is weak, resigned.

Liam opens and closes his mouth. Harry stands up. His jaw is set. "No, no," Liam protests, "you don't need to _go_." Everything feels like it's slipping out of his fingers, a tower slowly toppling.

"It's okay. I'm gonna give you a bit of space." Liam doesn't even know if he _wants_ space, and Harry doesn't sound like himself. "I'll see you."

 

Liam almost forgets about Ruth's visit until it's on top of them. They've known she was coming for weeks, but there's been a lot going on. Not necessarily a lot going on in their lives in general, but for Liam in his head. Time and its progress wasn't quite lining up for him.

She arrives with a suitcase and a smile that Liam has missed like anything. When she hugs him, he has this great swelling urge to cry. One that he represses, but not easily.

"I missed you too," she says to his silence. "Is everything okay?"

Liam pulls back. She's still smiling, but there's a crease in her brow, her eyes flickering over his face. The trip must have worn her out – she's here en route to home – and she looks tired, but happy, too. "Just glad to see you."

"You too," she assures him, worry relaxing from her face. "Where's Mum and Dad? They're going to have kittens when I tell them my news."

"News?" Liam repeats. His first thought is _oh god, she's pregnant._

To his relief, she says, "Don't tell them, 'cause I want to do it, but I'm getting a promotion."

And that really _is_ good news. Ruth works so hard and she's been rising slowly but surely through the ranks of her company; he knows she's wanted this for a long time, and genuine happiness floods him. "Ruth! That's. That's great."

She beams. "I know! I can't wait to see Dad's face."

Their dad's face is priceless. He's so happy Liam is worried he'll start crying, like their mum is. Ruth shoots Liam a fond, giddy eyeroll over their mum's shaking shoulder.

"Does that mean you're moving?" says their dad, when he's collected himself.

"Nah, shouldn't be. Still in London. Hopefully the same department, just totally different job."

At the mention of London, Liam's heart sinks terribly. He wishes it wouldn't, but he can't seem to stop it.

Something in Ruth's expression changes. She tilts her head and mouths, "You okay?" He nods yes, but the way she purses her lips tells him he wasn't very convincing.

Dinner goes ahead, pleasant enough. Ruth tells them about her friends and then gets caught up on all the town gossip. Liam chats along, laughs here and there – jumps in maybe a little over-excitedly to tell Ruth about how Craig had convinced the whole block he'd seen a UFO only for everyone to find out it was a helicopter.

"New bakery, too," adds their dad, just when Liam is starting to relax. "Lad from out of town started it up. Mate of Liam's, now."

"Oh, that's cool!" Ruth turns to Liam. "Does he give you discounts?"

"Harry'd give anyone a discount." Liam shrugs. He hopes it doesn't sound as bitter to their ears as it does to his own, because it's true. Harry is nice to a fault, and not like when mums say it, but really.

Ruth laughs. "Sounds like you're proper mates, then. Is he the one you came to London with the weekend I was away?"

"Mhm," says Liam and shoves a spoonful of food in his mouth to avoid any more questions about it.

His joy has subsided, leaving him with an awareness that Ruth is only here for the night, and then she's continuing home the next day. He wants her to stay, and he wants to feel like he can properly fill his lungs with air.

She corners him after dinner, and though he wasn't exactly expecting it, it's not a surprise. They're in the guest room, because Liam carried her suitcase up for her, when Ruth says, "So, you and this bakery boy are mates!"

"Yeah." Liam's throat gets tight. He loves Ruth, and he trusts her. And he knows she's only trying to be happy for him, but he doesn't know if this is a good topic for him. "We're having a bit of a spat at the moment, but it'll be fine."

"I see." She sits down on the bed and pats the spot beside her. "C'mon, I want to catch up properly."

That's Ruth's way of saying, _I know there's something on your mind, and my curiosity is going to get it out of you._ Sitting down anyway, Liam wonders if he'll ever learn.

"How come you fought?" she asks. "Was it something silly?"

God, Liam wishes it was. "Not really." To his horror, his voice wavers.

Ruth's eyes widen and she takes the hint, clumsily changing tack. "How's work going?"

"Fine, I guess." Liam shrugs. He hasn't been paying much attention to how work has been going, really. The same people come in and buy things every day. It's not been _going_ at all.

"Liammm," Ruth sighs, and Liam prickles.

"What? Nothing exciting's going on. Things are the same as always."

Her gaze is sceptical. "You seem miserable."

"I'm not!" Liam insists, finding himself surprisingly defensive. It hurts, for some reason, to hear her say that, and he's not sure why.

There's a pause. "Okay, well. There was something else I wanted to talk to you about."

Liam can't help how his heart speeds up whenever someone says something like that. It always sounds foreboding, however prepared he is for it not to be.

"You know the place down the street from where I work, the audio engineering company?" Her eyes are fixed on his face, watching for a reaction, so he does his best not to give her one.

Given thought, he realises he does know the one. Red brick, an old building for a new practice.

"They're looking to take on some more staff, and I think you'd be good at it. My friend Angela works there, she could recommend you, and–"

"Wait," says Liam, "hold on, in London?"

"Yeah!"

How they got here, Liam really isn't sure. "What makes you think I want to move to London?"

Blinking, Ruth insists, "Because it's the kind of job you'd love! Sound production. They want a junior they can train up, so you not having experience is a good thing. Be more exciting than working in a shop, wouldn't it? I didn't want to bring it up in front of Mum and Dad though, just wanted to hear what you thought."

The emotion Liam experiences feels like he's hurtling towards the brick building in his memory in a car, ready to smash into it. "Whatever. Fine. Thanks."

Ruth stares at him, and immediately he feels bad. "Sorry, I-"

"Are you mad with me?" she interrupts, voice sharp.

It makes him flinch. "No! Yes? A little." His voice gets quieter on each word. "It's fine, though, okay?"

Ruth faces him. He remembers this face well from growing up, her face of aggressively making something better. It used to show up a lot when he and Nicola fought. "Why're you mad at me?"

"I'm not," Liam backtracks, "not really, I'm tired, that's all."

"Is it because I wasn't around when you came to visit? Because I swear, I tried to reschedule things but they wouldn't let me. You know I wouldn't miss an opportunity to see you if I could help it."

Briefly amongst all the upset, pleasant and guilty warmth flares in Liam's stomach, a surprised sense of love. "It's not that – thank you, though. I didn't know about that."

"You're not talking to me," she protests, biting her cheek. "What's really up? Please."

She's doing her _please!_ eyes, which isn't fair play at all, and Liam looks away, shoulders coming up around his ears as he sighs, "You know I didn't want you to go in the first place. We don't have anything left to talk about."

Ruth's voice is softer when she speaks again, "I was never going to stay here forever. Frankly, I didn't think you would want to, either. Kind of thought I was giving you an out. This is a good place for Mum and Dad, because they've lived here so long, all their friends are here. What's keeping you tied down, though?"

Liam shrugs. Again. It's like someone is pulling his hair or sitting on his chest, this scrambling feeling. "It's ridiculous," he tells her, standing up, "I'm tired. Let's go to bed."

"Consider it," she urges, but his knees are turning to jelly quite quickly. Without replying, he gets out of the room, crosses the landing to his own.

Sticky and slippery with sweat, his fingers don't catch the doorknob the first try. Once he's in, he closes the door and walks to his bed. His hands have made fists of their own accord. London is huge, he keeps thinking. London is huge and so far away and he's only been there a couple of times, and moving is huge and where would he stay, and a job he's never done. His room seems bare when he looks around at it. Nothing else to occupy himself with. His arms hurt like they do when he's angry.

He's lived here forever, he tells himself, and he's never wanted to leave, not _really._ He'll sleep this off and tell Ruth no in the morning.

 

He oversleeps, and Ruth leaves without saying goodbye. His dad says she didn't want to wake him. Liam is angry anyway.

 

Ruth was always on his team. Liam is buying milk for his mum and he can't stop thinking about how Ruth always used to hold up a fist and say "Team Liam?" and wait for him to bump it with his own and say, "Team Liam."

The milk he's grabbed is a bit dented in one corner, so Liam puts it back and gets another one, but that one's expiry date is too soon, so he puts it back as well. The town feels empty and he can't believe Ruth didn't say goodbye, and Harry didn't stop by for Liam's lunch break today.

He feels heavy under everyone's stares, feels like the hurt and confusion buzzing in him must be vibrating to the surface. He grabs a third bottle of milk and, satisfied with it, takes it to the counter. His boss puts it through for him, gives him his discount, and frowns a little at Liam's face.

"You alright, lad?" he asks, gruff.

"Yeah, thanks, you?" says Liam, basic, instinctive.

"Good. See you."

By the time he gets into bed that night, Liam feels like he's made a mistake.

 

The next day he works until three, and then he's off for the afternoon. He's got nothing to do. Going home early is an option, but he'd just sit in the living room, watching the telly or lying on the couch staring at the ceiling, and he doesn't know if he can take that, the way he's feeling.

He almost doesn't realise he's going for a walk until he's dropped his things home and pulled his trainers on. Calling goodbye to his mum, he sets off.

Really, it makes sense, that his legs carry him here. Out of the town, down the hill, and around the long curve bend to the fields. Under the fence. He cuts himself on some of the wire, a light scrape along his hand, and he winces, sucking the blood off his finger as he keeps walking. He hopes it won't get infected.

Pulling himself up, he scans for the car, then freezes.

Knees pulled up to his chest, head down on them, Harry doesn't seem to realise Liam is there. He looks surprisingly small for someone tall and broad with so much limb. The wind tugs at his hair, loose today, and he pulls his knees in closer, shoulders moving down in something like a sigh.

Liam walks up to the car. He's thinking about it, but he's acting before he's finished deciding. "Hey," he says, soft. "Can I join you?"

Harry couldn't have missed his footsteps through the grass, and he doesn't jump when Liam speaks, instead brings his head up and rests his chin on his arms. His eyes are red like he's been crying; Liam really hopes he hasn't been. "Sure," he says, deep voice a little husky. "Enough room for two, isn't there."

Shuffling over, he makes room for Liam to sit on the bonnet of the car next to him, and Liam does, careful to keep an inch or two of space between them. Silence falls. Harry watches the treetops moving in the wind over the other side of the field, and Liam leans back, looks up at the sky, carefully resting across the windshield.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks Harry.

"Why didn't you leave when you saw me?" Harry counters, and it's – miserable, exposed. It sounds like he meant it to be casual and didn't manage it at all. Liam hasn't heard Harry talk like that before.

"Haven't been avoiding you," Liam says, but he hasn't been seeking Harry out either, hasn't instigated a conversation with him to sort anything out. Whatever there is to be sorted out.

"Never mind, I don't want to talk about this right now," Harry decides, only a little choked. "Talk to me about something else."

Considering Liam's life feels more or less like a volcano ready to erupt at any moment, he really doesn't know what else there is to talk about. "Why did you move out here?" he asks Harry, eventually.

They've talked about this before, about property prices and the gap in the market since their old bakery had been on the verge of shutting down, but this time Harry says, "Because Louis told me to stop waiting for things to feel perfect."

"I thought it all was perfect," Liam points out, since that's always been how Harry has told the story – he's always used the word _serendipity._

"I wanted a place in London." Leaning back against the car windscreen, Harry closes his eyes. "I had a picture of it in my head, exactly what it'd be like. What I wanted it to be. And I kept waiting around for some perfect place in my price range with everything I had in mind to come around, and it kept not happening. So Louis eventually talked me into, like – he said I needed to broaden my vision. Give things a shot even if I wasn't sure what it'd be like."

It's silly, he knows it is, but his first thought is that Harry never wanted to come here in the first place.

"Didn't want to be away from home," says Harry, "didn't want to be away from them."

"The boys?" says Liam, even though he knows that's who Harry means. Zayn, Louis, Niall – they were something else. Liam's never met anyone else like them. He can understand why Harry wouldn't want to leave them behind.

"Yeah. It's – it's hard, sometimes. I miss 'em lots. Worry they're not missing me so much. But they keep in contact and whenever I see them I know we're okay. They kind of are my home, I guess."

At a loss, Liam just _mm_ s.

"Turned out well, though," Harry says, surprising him. "Ended up broadening my horizons and I looked out here, figured there's less competition. Gap in the market and all. And it's goin' really well." He lowers his voice. "I kinda hope that I can get somewhere in London one day. But who knows."

"Ruth wants me to go to London," Liam says. It falls from his mouth and he barely knows why just knows that abruptly he has to tell Harry. Not just that he has to tell someone, but he needs to tell Harry. "And I don't know if I should go."

"Why would you go?" Harry asks. His voice is always deep and slow, but it's even more that way right now.

"Her friend's sound engineering company has a spot open I could take," Liam explains. "She could refer me in. Ruth says I could stay with her until I sort out somewhere else."

"So why don't you want to go?"

Liam's usual answers come to mind, but what comes out of his mouth is, "I'm scared."

Harry rolls to face him, and the car creaks ominously under him. "But you want to do it?"

"I – yeah," Liam says. Admits it out loud to himself for the first time. "I can't be here any more. I need something to change."

Harry nods his head. His hand is inches from Liam's, but neither of them move. "Then you kinda know what to do, right?"

 

A lot of big, scary, great things happen in very quick succession. Liam calls Ruth and cries when he tells her. He gets put in touch with her friend, who gets him a job interview that he and his dad train into London for together. His dad tells him before he goes in, "I'm proud of you no matter what happens in there."

And then Liam gets a job, and then Liam's in his room with a bunch of bags and some cardboard boxes and he's meant to sort more than two decades of his life into essentials and not, and he has to sit on his bed for a few minutes trying not to utterly panic.

He and Harry haven't talked since their conversation on the wrecked car, and Liam misses him fiercely. He guesses this is what makes him open a text – the first text he's ever sent to Harry because they normally talk on Liam's lunchbreak, and occasionally Harry would call him.

He types four different variations on 'hi' before foregoing a proper greeting altogether, keeping the message short and to the point. Liam doesn't want to get into formalities with Harry. In the end, he simply sends,

_'I have to put everything in boxesss... want to come over?'_

Dawdling and waiting for the text back is appealing, but Liam has too much to do, so he puts his headphones on and starts on his clothes.

 

Fifteen minutes later he hasn't had a text back, so he accepts the disappointment. Harry might be busy, even though Liam knows the bakery has been closed for a couple of hours by this time on a Sunday. That doesn't mean he has nothing else he could be doing, though. And he's not obligated to hang out with Liam anyway.

Liam doesn't know whether to bring the blue plaid he's holding; he thinks he packed another one very similar to it, but he likes them both and maybe something will happen to one of them, or he could want to wear blue plaid for a good few days in a row and having a spare would be useful.

"Liam," his mum calls from downstairs, sounding the kind of pleased that unfortunately always makes Liam vaguely trepidatious, "someone's here to see you!"

Heart in his throat, Liam's brain eagerly supplies _HARRY!_ And he tells it to hush. There's no new text on his phone.

Footsteps fade up the stairs, stop in front of Liam's door. There's a knock and then, "Um – Liam?"

Scrambling up, Liam opens the door, and Harry's standing there. He's wearing a shirt unbuttoned to about his navel, patterned with strange orange flowers. His hair is pulled back like it is after work, and his gaze is hopeful.

"You're here," says Liam, trying to avoid the tone of surprise.

"Yeah," says Harry simply. "Can I come in?"

Harry has never been in Liam's room, which, now that Liam thinks about it, is a little strange. And this isn't exactly the best time to see it, full of the very specific strewn-about mess that comes with packing.

"Packing," says Harry, like he read Liam's mind. His tone could nearly be sympathetic but Liam feels like it maybe has too much of something else in it for that.

"Yeah." It's a beat too late, awkward and heavy in Liam's mouth. As he's beginning to wonder if inviting Harry around was a bad idea, Harry crosses the room in what appears to be only two strides and lays himself across Liam's bed. He makes a soft _oof_ sound.

"You alright, mate?" asks Liam, a laugh he's not sure he's allowed to have clenching his chest.

"Mmf," answers Harry eloquently. Then, "Thanks for asking me over."

"Thanks for coming," Liam answers. "It's just been me and these boxes for hours now."

Harry rolls onto his back, shirt riding up his torso a little. Liam doesn't dare look and says, "What're you packing now then?"

Liam sighs. "Clothes."

Harry makes a sympathetic whining noise, turning his head to look at Liam. "Need a hand?"

Harry's eyes are really green, but instead of feeling caught in them this time, Liam feels something in him loosen. He's still got to pack all these things, and he's still moving to London, and he still has no idea what's going to come of it. Somehow, having Harry lying on his bed makes it feel like he can take it one step at a time.

Harry has very strong opinions about clothes, which is at times good and helpful, and at other times can be hilarious – "I can't believe you're squandering your potential by wearing _that_." Liam gets a lot done, which is funny considering it feels like he did less than he did the day before. Still, boxes pile neatly up at his door, and by the time Harry has to go, the whole thing feels far more achievable.

"Thanks for coming over," says Liam as he sees Harry out. They still have to talk, he knows that, but this – this was good, he thinks it was important to be in each other's company for awhile. They can talk next time.

"Thank you for having me," says Harry, ever polite. "I-" He pauses, and for a moment Liam thinks they might talk right then. Instead, Harry gives himself a little shake and says, "When are you moving, exactly? I'll come over 'n' help. Could take your stuff up in the delivery van, save your parents driving there and back."

"You don't have to-"

"Liam," Harry cuts him off. "Let me, c'mon." He takes a breath, shoulders visibly rising and falling with it, "Let me – make it up to you, I guess."

Liam doesn't know how to reply to that, for a moment. "Friday," he says at last. "S' on Friday." Harry tilts his shoulders one way and his head the other, somehow the gesture Liam never knew existed to replace a question mark. Liam continues, "...See you then?"

 

Moving house is a bit like being sucked into a void for a day and waking up in a different universe. Liam is currently on Void Day. His stomach is shaky with that nervous-and-excited feeling as he gets up and showers and has breakfast. He makes it through a whole slice of toast before his mum starts to cry.

His dad and he are shifting things out onto the front lawn when Harry comes by at about 9, driving the bakery delivery van as he promised. He gives Liam a wave as he leans out the driver's window to park. "Morning, Paynes!" He swings himself out of the car and Liam can't help but laugh, because Harry isn't dressed to move at all. He's barely dressed for summer, even; a blousey-type shirt and skinny jeans and boots with a little bit of a heel.

They look at each other for a moment and Liam can feel his smile getting bigger even though he doesn't mean for it to. Harry looks like he was never, ever meant to set foot in Liam's town, and now Harry will be living here while Liam lives where Harry used to. _Swaps,_ he thinks.

"Big day!" says Harry. "You ready?"

"Oh, yeah," says Liam. They both know it's not true.

Liam's dad is making that _face_ , that face he always makes when he's not quite sure about something, as he walks over to join them. "Harry's here to help," Liam explains, sure he mentioned this before now.

"I remember," says his dad.

Harry has his charming smile on, the one Liam can't look at directly. "We met the other night. Nice to see you again, Mr Payne."

In the face of Harry's hopeful eyes, Liam suspects his dad doesn't have much choice. "You too," he relents, somewhat reluctantly, but there's the edge of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Liam and Harry really need to talk. He can feel it escalating in the time they spend carrying boxes out to the car. They take a brief break for lunch, during which Harry presents the leftover bakery food he brought with him to share, which definitely makes Liam's parents more favourable towards him.

Afterwards, they gather outside to say goodbye – Liam reckons his parents would probably have tried to come for the drive if there had been room in the bakery van for them. Liam's mum is crying. He knew she would, but he still feels that pit-of-his-stomach drop happen when she starts. Call him what they will, Liam knows he's a mama's boy and his father's son, both.

"You know your room will still be here if it doesn't work out and you want to come home," his mum manages as he hugs her.

"Always room for you here," agrees his dad, putting a hand on his mum's waist.

"It'll be fine," he assures them. "I'll be fine."

"'M gonna go start the car," says Harry, quietly so as not to intrude, but there enough to give Liam an out if he needs it, and he's grateful for that as his parents pull him in for another hug.

Every time he thinks he's ready to go, either he can't let go, or they can't. His mum is still crying.

"Okay," he says at last, pulling back. "Really, Mum, you'll set me off. I better go."

"Don't want Harry to be driving back too late," his dad reminds his mum, and she nods, wipes her eyes.

She says, "Love you."

"You too, course," Liam replies, backing away towards the car to make sure he really does leave, instead of calling the whole thing off and staying back just so none of them will cry any more. He picks up the box on the passenger seat (marked 'BEDSHEETS') and sits down, rests it on his lap. He turns and waves out the window at his family until they're out of sight, and then it's just him, Harry, the road, and all the boxes.

It's two blocks of silence before Harry turns the radio on. The station isn't any of the ones Liam normally listens to, or the one they played at work, but it's interesting, with tugging voices and mumbly, rambling guitar, totally fitting for Harry.

"How're you feeling?" Harry asks him, surprising him as if he'd broken a silence.

"Excited." Easy answers come to mind, but they don't feel true, so Liam takes a moment to sort through them. It's always been too easy to be honest with Harry, but now it's a deliberate choice he makes. "Scared. Not the same type of scared as I'm used to, though. 'Cause I feel scared a lot. But this isn't the same."

"Gem calls that active scared," supplies Harry. "Active scared and passive scared; scared because of something you're doing, and scared because of something you're not."

"Never thought about it like that."

"Neither did I. It's a very Gemma thing." Harry shrugs. "Can be useful, can be not. Depends on how you take it." As they stop at the red light in the center of town, near the hairdresser's and across from the grocer's, Harry shoots Liam a glance out of the corner of his eye. "That's what it feels like, though, right? That's the scared feeling?"

"Yeah." Liam sits back into the car seat, trying to settle in for the long drive ahead. "Did you feel that way? When you first came out here and bought the bakery?"

If Harry seems caught off-guard by Liam questioning him in return, it's only for a second. "I think, like..." He trails off, frowning in a thoughtful way. It's not until Liam encourages him on – "Don't leave me in suspense, mate, c'mon," – that he elaborates, "I think it's easy to mistake passive scared for active scared, until you do something active scary."

Vague. Harry's good at vague, but it makes it hard to understand sometimes. "You mean with the bakery? When you were back in London?"

Harry nods, flicks his indicator on. It reminds Liam of how Harry's hands look, and he gets prickles down his shoulders remembering how warm they are.

"Did you regret it?" asks Liam. He'd wanted to ask before, but he'd not been sure he wanted to know.

"Nah," says Harry. "Not really. I miss home, but I did the right thing for me, I think, and the boys agree."

"I think this is the right thing for me," says Liam. It comes out as tentative as he feels, but once he's said it, he feels it settle. Like he finally knows he‘s made the right choice.

"I hope so," says Harry. "Wouldn't want you to do it otherwise." He smiles, and Liam smiles back before turning to look out the window at the vanishing paddocks on either side of them.

The drive to London is long, and Liam can hardly stand the wait. His excitement has never been terrifically patient, and it's not starting now. Harry notices, of course, and makes an honourable effort to distract him, doing silly things like lip syncing to the radio or telling terrible stories about deliveries he's made in this truck, including some that went awfully wrong. However, as much as Harry makes Liam laugh, the city draws closer, and he finds that he can't keep his thoughts off his nerves for very long. It's active scared, at least. That's a refreshing change.

Liam's laughs get more breathless and anxious until Harry stops trying to coax them. He fiddles with the radio dial and puts his hand out, palm up, in the space between his seat and Liam's.

Frankly, Liam's not quite sure what to make of that, and he glances up at Harry's face, hoping for a clue. Harry nods his head back down at his hand and wiggles his fingers. "Gimme your hand," Harry says at last.

Liam's stomach flips, and he's not sure if it's in a good way or not. "What? Why?"

"I dunno, like. Support. Comfort. Y'know."

Liam isn't sure he _does_ know. He's not an idiot, he understands that Harry wants to hold hands, but the context and the execution feel foreign and surreal.

Harry moves his hand away, and for a brief second, Liam thinks he's missed his chance, but Harry just changes gears and then holds it up again. "Not like anyone's going to see," he points out, "if that's what you're worried about."

Liam knows that, in theory. It's hard not to feel scrutinised, though, after this long trying to be careful. Harry's hand hovers there, and Liam remembers again how it feels when Harry touches him, to touch in return – and. "Can I ask you something?"

"Course," says Harry. He still doesn't take his hand away.

Something rather powerful and loud is swelling in Liam's chest, something that has been kept there, strangled, for as long as he can remember. He's felt it every time he's looked at Harry and he's been forcing it down, down, down. "Never mind," he decides, and like a stronger him has taken over, he lifts his hand and rests it over Harry's.

Harry's hand is so warm, and he curls his fingers around Liam's like a brace, gentle and calloused and abruptly, Liam feels a bit dizzy. Then the dizziness fades, like a wave pulling back over the sand in retreat to the ocean, and he's left with a heavy warmth in his stomach and a sense of overwhelming relief.

Harry smiles, squeezes his hand, and they drive on.

 

London traffic is appalling, but it gives Liam longer to admire their surroundings; the tall buildings and the landmarks, some of which he saw when he was last here with Harry. Then they head out of the city center again, and Harry pulls up his GPS on his phone to direct him to Ruth's address. For awhile, the automated voice directing them is the only sound from in the car.

Arriving there is more of an affair than Liam thinks it's going to be, because there's a welcome party. The first glimpse of it he gets is the bleach-blonde hair and an enthusiastic waving hand, and then he sees a flash of an Adidas logo, and then as they pull in at the curb, the soft eyes that he remembers.

"Hello, boys," calls Harry out the window, all smiles so big his face could break, and he lets go of Liam's hand as he opens the door. Liam misses it once it's gone.

"Harry!" exclaims Niall, as if it isn't perfectly obvious who it is, like his excitement is free to leap out of him any time he feels it. He jogs across the street, hardly looking first, and hits Harry hard with a hug. Harry makes a delighted sound and spins him, a little.

"Oi, stop hoggin' him, Niall," demands Louis, marching on up himself, "we _all_ want to hug Harry."

"Want to hug him the most," Niall says, muffled in Harry's shoulder.

Harry and Louis exchange a look that Liam reads as, _he's probably right._

Approaching them as well, Zayn wraps himself around Harry and Niall both, without a second thought. Harry opens his right arm to welcome him in, resting a cheek against the side of his head, and with a huff, Louis pushes his way in to be part of it.

Liam stands rather awkwardly on the footpath not too far from them, uncertain what he should do, until Niall says, "Can't forget the reason we're here, lads. Leemo!" He pokes his head up, resting his chin on Harry's shoulder, and extends an arm, beckoning. "Come join in!"

To his own surprise as much as anyone else's, Liam does, barely pausing first. Zayn and Louis tug him in and pat his back, there's a hand on his shoulder and they're all saying, "Good to see you, mate!" or "How've you been?" or "Where are these boxes, then?"

Overwhelmed in the nicest way, Liam isn't sure where to start. "It's lovely to see you all," he says, "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Wouldn't miss it!" Louis tugs a lock of Harry's hair. "Not when Harry told us you were making such a big move."

"Talks about you _all the time,_ " mutters Zayn, but his grin tells Liam he doesn't actually mind.

Harry splutters and yanks Louis's beanie off his head to jam it on his own. At Louis's protests, he says, "My ears are cold!" and Louis, inexplicably, lets it go.

It's at that moment that Ruth pokes her head out the door and says, "Liam!" and her voice makes Liam's feelings all bubble up into tears in his eyes, so fast he barely realises it's happening. She shoves her shoes on and comes out onto the path as he separates from the boys and jogs to see her, and they meet in the middle, her hug suffocating and lovely as always. She smells like a piece of home out here, and all his nerves and worries untangle as one or two tears maybe make their way down his face. If she knows, she doesn't call him out, just says, "I'm so happy to see you, this is so exciting. I've got the guest room all set up, my flatmate'll be home soon and I'll introduce you." It's only then that she notices Louis, Niall, Zayn and Harry standing behind him. "Friends?" she guesses, sounding hopeful.

Liam pauses, but Louis fills for him, "Yes, friends," firmly enough that he feels he didn't have to pause at all. "Now, where's your stuff, Liam?"

 

Liam's mum always says, "Many hands make light work!" usually when she wants Liam to help her with something, but he can't deny it's true. With Harry and the other three helping, all his stuff gets out of the van and into Ruth's apartment much, much faster than it did with Liam and his dad carrying it all out of the house.

Ruth's place is warm and cozy, not big at all, but not really needing to be. The walls are a lovely light blue, and although the furniture is a little tattered, it gives the place character. Apparently, the train station is only a few blocks away, as well, which means easy commute for both of them. She finds a place for all the things they bring in, even if it's somewhere temporary, so things don't feel too cluttered. The smell of something delicious makes its way out from the kitchen, and when Harry asks about it, Ruth informs them it's her slowcooker. "Making casserole," she explains.

"Look at you, all grown up," says Liam, and she cuffs his shoulder lightly.

"You can all stay for dinner, if you like," she tells the boys, as they finish bringing in the last of the boxes and bags, "you're more than welcome, and I reckon I've made too much of this for just me and Liam to eat."

They all seem keen, nodding and Louis clarifying, "As long as we're no trouble!" except Harry ruefully checks the time on his phone, and Liam remembers that Harry has work the next day.

"I'm gonna have to head off, actually," he says, "sadly! But I'll come back and visit, yeah?"

"Maybe having Liam here will finally make you actually do that," says Louis, which makes Harry splutter a bit. Not many people can make Harry splutter, in Liam's experience, so it's almost entertaining to watch.

"S'fair enough, Haz, you gotta get home for work," says Zayn, quiet. "But you do have to come up 'n' see us."

"I will," Harry promises, as he goes to put on his coat. "Really, I will."

There's more hugs out by Harry's van, and Liam struggles to get his mind around it, since it feels like they only just got here and now Harry has to go.

Harry comes to him last and he hugs him the longest. In his peripheral vision, Liam is aware of Louis herding everyone else back inside, and though it's a little strange, Liam finds himself focused on other things, burrowing into Harry's coat and clinging slightly. He doesn't want Harry to go.

"You'll come see us," he says, even though they just went through this.

"I _promise,_ " Harry murmurs. "I will. In fact, keep an eye out for any bakery-type properties around here, yeah? Still want to bring the business back here, one day."

Liam nods, and finds himself still too achy in his chest to let Harry go.

"Liamm," whinges Harry, soft, "I don't wanna go."

"Don't want you to," agrees Liam.

They stand there for another moment before they finally pull back, just enough to look at each other.

"Oh!" says Harry, suddenly, pulling back. "I forgot. I brought you somethin'." He turns to the back of the van and reaches in, pulls out one of those insulated shopping bags, like Liam's mum uses to buy refridgerated things. Out of it, he pulls a bottle of flavoured milk and a paper bag. "Thought you could maybe use a snack on the drive, only I forgot to give it to you. Here."

Inside the bag, when Liam peers in, is a donut with a glazing of caramel and sprinkles. He laughs a little and says, "I'm going to miss you."

Harry looks taken aback, but not in a bad way. His face softens. "You too." He shifts and says, "I, uh." Clears his throat. "You know that night in London? By the Thames?"

Liam nods. His grip on the paper bag gets tighter. He's not sure what's coming.

Harry takes a deep breath. "I nearly kissed you. But I thought that maybe it wasn't the right time, so I wondered if maybe I could kiss you now."

Maybe it should be a shock. Maybe Liam's hearing should white out or his stomach should drop or he should faint dead or something. In reality, though, it feels like something he's known all along and never really stopped to look at. And now he is, because it's the right time.

"Yeah," he says. "I'd be okay with that."

Harry needs no more encouragement, moving forward and pulling Liam to him at the same time, hands on Liam's hips first, then his elbows, then cupping his cheeks, and then Liam is being kissed. It's not that he's never been kissed before, but he's not been kissed like this, earnest and slow. Harry kisses like he talks, a bit rambly and almost a little tricky to follow, but fun and Liam's favourite, too.

When Harry pulls back, he's a bit pink, which is satisfying and makes Liam smile, and he says, "Now I _really_ don't want to go, Liam, good job."

It's a delight to know Harry well enough to know he's not really upset. "Go on. Just come back and see me."

Harry grumbles as he gets into the car. Liam's stomach feels all giddy and on this unfamiliar footpath in this unfamiliar street, he feels completely free and safe.

 

The most important thing about Liam's first few weeks in London is the boys. Even without Harry, they keep in touch with him; all of them miraculously get hold of his phone number, and soon enough he's being invited out to see a movie with Niall, who is the brightest, happiest person around, who makes Liam feel like his own enthusiasm is okay. He and Zayn, at Zayn's proposal, start to do weekly coffee dates, just to sit and talk. Zayn is thoughtful and goofy, always has something to say that makes Liam think, and he's a good listener. Louis is all over the board; sometimes he and Liam chill and play video games, and sometimes Louis drags Liam out for night-long adventures doing the type of things he'd never dreamt of doing. Louis is everything and everywhere all at once, funny and giddy and then disarmingly sweet. They do things as a group, too, dinners at Niall's when his flatmate is out or movie nights at Louis's. Liam finds that he laughs and talks a lot more, and that no one seems to mind as much as he used to think they would.

His internship is all sorts of terrifying, but he tells himself it's active scared, it's a fear that's getting something done. There are good parts, too. It's engaging and interesting, and he loves the learning of it. Ruth always wants to hear about it when he gets home, and he finds himself with more and more to tell her as time goes by.

Niall's flatmate is another young Irishman named Eoghan, and a few months into Liam's time in London, he moves back to the small town in Ireland where he came from. Without a flatmate, Niall has a room to let. He calls Liam on a Thursday afternoon, as Liam's getting out of the car and walking up the stairs, and asks him if he'd like it, and Liam almost falls over his own feet.

Things in London are good. Liam's not sure what to make of all of it, sometimes, but he finds himself more and more okay with that.

Harry comes to visit every few weeks, brings updates and stories about the bakery and Liam's family and their town. His hair gets a bit longer, but it's still him, warm and lovely as Liam knows him. He's still scouting for that perfect place, somewhere not too big or small, somewhere he can put a few stools and a mint-painted bar and make a whole load of cupcakes, but in the meantime, he and Liam are doing alright.

More than anything, Liam wishes he could go back in time and tell himself that this would happen. That he wouldn't believe it, but that one day he'd be living in London, that he'd have a group of friends who are closer and softer and more lovely than he could have dreamed of, and that he'd be able to kiss a boy, eventually, without feeling scared.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading ♥ happy new year everyone! find me on tumblr @foundfamilyvevo.


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